Chills
by GodzillasCaptor
Summary: One-shot. Thilbo, Thorin/Bilbo. Movie-based. Bilbo really has no idea what he got himself into, but Dwarves are more gentle than they seem.


Bilbo couldn't stand him, the dwarven king that just _insisted_ on bugging him day in and day out while they traveled. He had made efforts to make friends with the bull-headed man, but all of his gestures were turned away with scowls and mocking jokes about how different, unworthy, and undesirable that Bilbo was. The hobbit couldn't take it anymore, the reckless sneers and snickers behind his back.

_Why didn't the king like him?_

* * *

Bilbo sat near the edge of the fire, eyeing the flames while the dwarves around him gave out cheerful spurts of song and handed out drink. Some swapped stories back and forth, mostly about past journeys and old friends that were either long-gone or long-dead. Honestly, hadn't they ever heard of the phrase: '_Silence is the sound of a good meal.'_? Bilbo just kept his head down, listening half-heartedly while slurping up the rather well-made soup.

Someone elbowed his arm, and Bilbo looked up, meeting Balin's eyes sheepishly.

"Enjoying your meal, lad?" The elder dwarf asked, a kind light in his eyes.

"It's ah... very homely, my compliments to Bombur and Bifur." Bilbo said shortly, averting his eyes back to the soup and eating another spoonful.

The elder chuckled again, and Bilbo almost asked him what was so funny, instead just raising an eyebrow. The dwarf just shook his head, getting up to share something with Dwalin. The warrior dwarf gave him the willies, but that just went without saying. Almost all the dwarves gave him the willies!

He ate the rest of his dinner in his own silence, ignoring the others and just enjoying his own time. Until another dwarf sat down beside him. Bilbo looked up, raising both eyebrows and preparing for another chat similar to the one he just had, maybe with some drunk dwarf instead. Nope, no such luck. There sat Fili, teeth bared in a _way_ too innocent grin. The hobbit looked behind him, then back to the young dwarf.

"Can I help you?" He asked quizzically, setting his empty bowl down next to his feet.

"Yes, you can." Kili said from behind him, and Bilbo gave a small start.

"Um... care to tell me what I'm helping with?"

The two shared a look, both having the weird grin on their faces. It made Bilbo anxious, like he was in the middle of a prank and it would get him in heaps of trouble if he complied.

"We noticed how uncle has been treating you-"

"-and we want to help you!" Fili started and Kili finished, each of them sharing a look of mischief. Kili plopped himself next to Bilbo, laying his hand on the hobbit's shoulder and staring right into his eyes. Bilbo gave an uncomfortable shift in his seat, waiting.

"Uncle has a specific thing that he just _cannot_ deny to _anyone_." Fili said, resting his arm on his knee and cupping his chin in his hand.

"Oh yes, it is very important to every dwarf, and no one has helped uncle with it in a long while. Ever since two-years past Durins day, correct?" Kili said with a questioning look at Fili. The elder brother nodded, and gave a smile to Bilbo- who shifted again in his seat.

"So... what do I have to do?" Bilbo asked, hoping it wasn't something like sparring.

"It's the easiest thing ever! Loosen up and listen... what you have to do..." Kili started, both him and Fili leaning in close and whispering into Bilbo's ear.

"... is braid his hair." Fili finished, and Bilbo almost trembled.

"Would he really let me do that? I don't want to offend him more than I clearly have..." The brothers clapped his shoulders in unison.

"Of course! No one in the right mind would refuse such an offer, especially from you!"

Bilbo got up, his eye slightly twitching as he tried to get his bearings.

"Where exactly... is he?" Bilbo asked, and the boys gestured East of camp, where the moon wasn't shining and the shadows loomed. _Great, a perfect place to be killed without anyone noticing. _Bilbo thought grimly, but trudged over there anyways. The brothers gave small cheers behind him, and Bilbo gave an awkward smile when he eventually saw Thorin sitting on his bedroll, rolling something in his fingers. It made Bilbo itch to take out his ring. His precious ring.

Wait, what? No, no, no, no.

Bilbo walked up to Thorin, another awkward smile etched on his face as the lone king raised his blue eyes to meet his. The dwarf stared for a bit, and silence- other than the distant cheers of other dwarves -filled the clearing.

"Is there something you need, hobbit?" The king asked and went back to staring at whatever it was he was rolling in his hand.

"I was um... was wondering if you would let me braid your hair...?" The hobbit asked, fumbling over the words and earning himself a look of surprise from the king. Thorin stared at him another minute, and Bilbo began to regret his decision before Thorin gestured for him to go on ahead. He sat cross-legged in front of the king, taking strands of his hair and starting his own native braid.

It started similar to that of a french braid, but after a weave was closed off you were to tuck the two-way split into the first hole made, continuing until the next weave where one would pull off the two ends over the one strand that was the base. This created an odd plait-like look, and looked rather satisfying on Thorin's silver-streaked hair.

Thorin would look up every once in awhile from whatever it was that he was doing, and Bilbo gave him a shy smile whenever he caught his eye. He made a few braids of similar looks, then tried his hand at one that had never really worked out for him before. Bilbo took seven _very_ thin strands and began to give them each a different area, pinning one back with his thumb and then circulating another over that. He released those two strands and did the same with the others, leaving one strand left.

He pinched the hairs together, using the last to ever-so-carefully weave into them. Each line had about four or five strands of hair in it, but the seventh had twelve. Carefully, he weaved one hair at a time- from the seventh strand -into the dwarf's hair in a criss-cross movement. He sat back when finished, looking at his work with a triumphant glow in his eyes.

The braid held wonderfully, thanks to the criss-crossing, and each pleat on the braid made Bilbo proud. Exquisitely done, if he did say so himself. Bilbo noticed Thorin staring, one eyebrow raised.

"All done!" The hobbit said with enthusiasm. Thorin gave a smile, the tiniest, coldest, and least sincere of smiles that Bilbo had ever seen, but it was a smile.

"Thank you, hobbit." Thorin said, then looked around, averting Bilbo's eyes expertly.

"Would you allow me to braid your hair?" The king asked, and Bilbo was, in the least, a little taken aback.

"Sure, I don't see why you couldn't." The hobbit's hair had grown out much in the past year of travel, and it hung loosely over his eyes and at the nape of his neck. This would surely be interesting.

Thorin set the thing he had been rolling down, reaching to gently tug at Bilbo's locks. Bilbo took this time to relax, leaning forward a bit so Thorin could reach better, and just letting his mind wander. He wondered how everyone in the Shire was doing. He wondered about his cousins and about his old family. He wondered about the people, and dwarves, around him. Each of them had a story to tell, each of them had their own reason to join Thorin.

Bilbo didn't really have a reason that would hold up. Yet, he stuck to it.

Silently, the hobbit wondered why Thorin even cared to invite him. Bilbo wasn't much to begin with, and sure, he might've done a few things to help. Was it really worth it for all the annoyance he gave the dwarf? Why did the king insist that Bilbo would run away every time that Bilbo left for a moment or two. He didn't understand it. The dwarf would save him from things, but then claim that Bilbo was nothing but a bother. Even after Bilbo had faced off to Orcs, the king continued to sneer his name as if he was a vile being.

Maybe he was.

No, no, no; and no. Bilbo knew in his heart that he wasn't vile, or a bother, but the way things had been going. The way things just happened. Did he really belong with the dwarves? Did the dwarves even want or care for him?

Doubt flashed through his mind, and his body went rigid for a moment before Bilbo realized that Thorin was giving him a weird look.

"Sorry." The hobbit murmured. "I'm just thinking too deeply about things..."

The dwarf went back to his hair, a look of concentration on his face. That's when Bilbo noticed something. His eyes. They looked... hollow. Emptiness in their depths and sorrow lying just beyond that. Bilbo tried not to stare, but nothing seemed to be able to take his eyes away from those piercing voids.

"Are you okay?" The hobbit blurted suddenly, and Thorin looked down from his work.

"No." He answered solidly, and then went back to weaving.

They sat in silence for what seemed like a long time before Thorin retreated from Bilbo and lowered his hands. There were four new braids in the hobbit's hair, two on each side of his head, and both connected together by a silver bead on the back of his head. How Thorin did what without Bilbo noticing was beyond him, yet somehow he did it.

"What's wrong then?" The hobbit asked curiously.

"Everything, I cannot figure out why you just randomly decided to-" He paused, looking at Bilbo and shaking his head, he stood up and began to pace. "You have no idea what you just did, do you?"

"I... suppose not, can I ask what I did?" Bilbo was confused as to why the dwarf was so angry, and he swore he saw tears starting at the ends of the kings eyes. No, it had to be his imagination.

"I see... so someone put you up to this or you are an innocent one who has no idea what anything is." The king rumbled, a growl sounding in the back of his throat. "Very well. IF you do not know what you did, we shall continue as if nothing has happened. Do you understand, hobbit?" The king spat, eyes fiery and glazed. Bilbo nodded, though not really knowing what the blazes was going on and why he was so furious.

"Good, now go rest. Tell the others that I'll take first watch."

Bilbo did as told, announcing to everyone his words and then unrolling his bedroll down for the night. He settled it near the fire, finding the nights becoming increasingly colder and less welcoming. The stars shone coldly down as he pondered what had happened in the past hour. Shrugging, he just couldn't figure it out, and he rolled over, curling into a ball and trying to get some sleep.

* * *

He woke at sunrise, a rough hand gently shaking him awake. Bilbo opened his eyes to meet Balin's friendly gaze. He yawned, stretching and feeling his muscles give a sickening pop for each one he stressed. Rising from his bedroll, he quickly packed it up and slung it over his back, sitting down near the now-crackling fire that had been renewed.

He was soon joined by the others, each of them giving quick glances at Bilbo's hair. This confused him until he remembered that Thorin had braided his hair. The others were probably too drunk to even take notice yesterday. The few who didn't ogle were Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin himself.

No one seemed to noticed the change in Thorin's looks though, and if they did noticed, they kept it hidden _very_ well. The company ate their breakfast with a few smiles and exchanging of words. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, even the grumpiest.

They soon headed off again, and Bilbo stuck near the back, where he could watch the scenery without being interrupted every few seconds. His pony was rather finicky, prancing off to the side a little and pressing her ears backwards at times, but it was rather peaceful for a few hours.

And then Gandalf slowed down to ride beside him.

"You know, the others are wondering about who braided your hair." The elder said, not looking at Bilbo, but at Thorin. "Would you like to share with me whom it was?"

Bilbo gave a start, _that_ was why everyone was looking at him funny? The hobbit shrugged.

"It was Thorin." He said, lowering his voice so only Gandalf could hear. "Why is it such a big deal on who _braided my hair?_"

Galdalf gave him a stare, in which he returned with a hint of malice in his eyes. The old wizard sighed, shaking his head slowly.

"Bilbo, my dear Bilbo... hobbits may court by making food or spending time with their loved one by doing some sort of task... it builds trust. Dwarves on the other hand... Dwarves will court by making and giving gifts and just spending time alone together, they do a large variety of things for gifting..." He cleared his throat. "Such as... intimacy. Mostly low-key things like hugs or touches on the head or neck. They also like to braid each others hair in a show of affection... and put a bead in the braid to show possession. Sometimes they give flowers or sing to their em... beloved. Whatever it takes to woo their wanted, they'll do it."

Bilbo's stomach did a flip, and he reached behind his head to touch the small thing that held his braiding back. The hug, the lingering touch of when Thorin helped him up from the cliff, the braiding. Fili and Kili had set him up for this. _Fili and Kili knew all along, and they did not tell me._

He put a hand to his head.

"Gandalf, is that what Thorin was talking about when he said I had no idea what I was doing?" The wizard nodded solemnly, and Bilbo mentally cursed himself. A thought came to mind then, and he gasped.

"How long had Thorin been courting me?" He asked looking toward the dwarven king with livid fear. Gandalf studied him for a moment, his shoulders tense and eyes narrowed.

"I suspect this has been going on four about a week or two. Had you waited any longer Thorin's spirit would decline, he would be weary and act as if every burden in the world was his. His stamina for long journeys would wane, and his eyes would dull. Thorin is not one to be patient, so I am genuinely surprised that he lasted this long while you were completely oblivious."

"And the others...?"

"Kili and Fili have known since this began, but they thought you already knew. Balin and Dwalin had suspicions and came to me about it, but at the time I was just as confused as they were. It's not _every_ day you see a hobbit responding to a dwarf positively."

Bilbo sucked in a long breath, slumping his shoulders. So those awkward glances, the tentative smiles, and the lingering shoulder-clasps and help outs... those had all been Thorin vying for his attention? The hobbit made a noise in the back of his throat, sure, he liked Thorin... but like that?

... Maybe a little.

...

...

...

Okay, a lot.

Bilbo had pushed those feelings away long ago, his own way of courting was immensely different from Thorin's, and now Bilbo felt like an utter fool. But, still...

Why had the dwarf been such a complete jack-ass every time Bilbo came around?

Curious about that, Bilbo opened his mouth, but Gandalf beat him to the answer.

"He doesn't like being so weakened by you. He tries to fight it and it usually ends up with a snarky joke or him talking rather angrily to you." The hobbit closed his mouth at Gandalf's words, sighing as he looked over to the king.

A gracious smile came over Bilbo's lips as he suddenly realized what all of this added up to. Gandalf soon left him alone, leaving him to his thoughts and fantasies. He couldn't get too excited though, as there was really no reason for the hobbit to get a random boner while riding on a pony, so he just let himself imagine small things- touching fingers, innocent kisses, stuff of the like.

* * *

It took him a moment or two while lost in thought to realize that the ponies had stopped moving and Thorin was giving out orders. Bilbo sagged in his saddle, his back was sore from just riding on the pony all day long. And yes, it had been hours of him doing nothing but watching the scenery and fantasizing. He slowly dismounted, stretching and popping his back before going off to help the others unload what little they had.

He hefted two bedrolls over his shoulders- Oin and Gloin's, as they were in charge of tying up the ponies and giving each their share of food. He walked around the area, laying down the heavy things on a suitable spot before going back to his own pony. He stroked the bay's snout, smiling softly and scratching it behind the ears. He heard someone come up behind him and found himself staring at an awkward-looking Thorin... an awkward looking Thorin that held a few flowers in his gloved hand. He looked Bilbo right in the eye and held them out, the stare making Bilbo feel like a prey animal at the claws of a predator.

With shaking hands, the hobbit held out his hand to take the brightly colored plants. His quaking fingers closed around the stems when Thorin's other hand came up to clasp his own between the two.

"Gandalf told you?" He asked, a storm behind his eyes.

"Y-yes..." Bilbo stuttered. "And... I still accept the courting, I am sorry that I wasn't aware any sooner than now." He saw the tension leave Thorin's shoulders for a brief moment, and the storm lessen. A sadness lingered though, flitting from behind his eyes and making his jaw bunch and tighten.

"Bilbo, I need you to be honest with me..." The king started in a raspy voice, eyes lowering. "... will you return to the Shire when this ordeal is over?"

The hobbit had to do a quadruple-take for that question, as he had given that subject little to no thought after he had left the place itself. It was a small question, but it did have a huge impact. Bilbo had to think for a long moment, each second in passing making Thorin seem even more on-edge.

"I don't think I will." Bilbo said in a strong voice. "After all, there is you, and the rest of the company... and Gandalf I suppose as well. I cannot just leave my friends, and to-be family." The halfling smiled, feeling the tension lift as Thorin actually gave a _warm_ smile. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Thorin has genuinely smiled with warmth, and at _Bilbo_, of all people!

Delight lit his face, and that just added to his appeal. Slowly, his hand was let go and he brought the flowers to his chest, letting Thorin reach out to give his cheek a gentle caress. The flowers were columbine, and the hobbit made a small jerk of his head. When hobbits courted, their flowers given usually had meaning.

Columbine were of modesty and shyness, especially the kind that Thorin had given him. Then Thorin turned away, going back to the rest of the group without so much as a goodbye. Bilbo watched him go with uncertainty, the silence between them was deafening and the hobbit just had to wonder why Thorin looked so _sad_.

Something had to have happened, something to make him so edgy and as grievous as he was. Bilbo knew that he had lost most of his family, but things like that healed with time, something else had to have happened, sometime _after_ the great battles and loss of people.

The hobbit wasn't given the time to ponder over it though, he was assigned to a multitude of tasks. Helping make a fire, giving different directions for healing salves, finding a good place to hide any stored food from bears, and cleaning off the grime and sweat from today in the ice-cold stream that flowed downhill. He simply didn't get a break until dinner, and by then he was too tired to even bother with such pesky thoughts. No, he settled with eating nice meaty stew and sharing tales with his comrades.

"You might deny me of this, but I have a few tales to tell of myself. None may be quite as exciting or adventurous as yours, but they do hold dear to my heart," He clasped one hand on his chest, feeling the soft pulsing underneath. "and I think you will think so as well."

"Each night in the summertime, my cousins and I would go out searching for a new adventure. Whether it was wandering to the forest to find a fairy-ring, or stealing from the maidens at the stands and acting innocent, we would always get ourselves into some trouble. Well, one time, I went... alone." He gave a dramatic pause, meeting each dwarf in the eyes briefly before continuing. "I was ten and seven-ones old, and full of myself. I found everything fascinating. So, on a nice summer morning I decided to go out into the outskirts of the Shire and find myself something fun to do.

"I had wandered around for awhile, keeping very quiet- my breathing was as silent as owls wings, my footsteps as light as snow falling, and each thrum of my heart a meer vibration in my chest. But then something caught my sight... It was no deer, nor horse. Neither fit the description. The creature was of three-shoulder lengths, with a towering crest for a crown... at least forty, no, fifty points per crown! It's pelt a splendid grey and black-speckled color, with a long swatter at the end, and I had thought it was some sort of mutant eagle at first. No, it had two hooves at it's hindquarters, and two talons on its front. At my age, I thought I had gone mad. No.

"It had stared at me, somehow sensing my silent presence through the noise of the forest, and it opened it's sharp beak- it's mane tossing like waves rolling at a bay. A mane made up of feathers, it was, and everything went still in the forest. It's beautiful wings spread- almost twenty feet of feathers and close-cropped fur... and it was gone." He paused. "That day was one of the best days of my life. I saw a rare deer-based hippogriff, and you- you select 13... you are the first to hear this story."

There was a collected silence in the gathering, and he lowered his head, feeling awkward.

"Welp, that's enough stories for me tonight..." He said awkwardly. "... goodnight...?"

With that, Bilbo went off to his bedroll, not allowing himself to listen to the talking that began behind him. He curled up, putting the blanket he had over his shoulders and letting himself adjust to the cold before closing his eyes to sleep. Winter was here, and with winter came all of the bad memories.

_The warm covers surrounded him like a shield, guarding him from the icy touch of the snowflakes that fell mercilessly from outside. The blankets kept most of the chill away, though barely. His toes still felt numb, and his nose was as red as a cherry. The youngling sniffled, sneezing as his mother came into the room to put a chilly hand on his forehead. He was burning up. _

_Shivering again, his mother moved to his bedside to feed him some leaves. Of what kind, he didn't know, but after about twenty minutes, his headache had gone and he started to feel sleepy. His mother smiled, patting his head with a small murmur._

_"Hush little hobbit, don't say a word,_

_as of right now, you are thoroughly cured..."_

_That was all he caught before she left, and his father came in. No one else could beat the respect he had for his dad, and he gave a shy smile to the tall hobbit. His dad stayed silent while they stayed together in the room, never being one for words. Bilbo didn't care, every second with his dad was a good one. His eyes fluttered closed, and when he opened them he wasn't in his room._

_He was standing in his kitchen, looking at his dead father. His mother stood in the doorway, her apron over her mouth, her eyes stone-cold over her husband. Bilbo went up to his dad, holding out a hand, unknowing he was dead._

_"Da?"_

_Nothing._

_"Da! Wake up! Dad! Da!" Tears were welling in his eyes, and his shoulders were grabbed by his mother, dragging him away from the corpse. Belladonna, his mother, would not let him leave his room until his dad had been removed. Bilbo had cried for days upon days, leaning heavily on his mother for support, and only earning scoldings and scowls in return. He mourned for two months, then slowly recovered. Each day a little more weight off his shoulders. But a question was still in the back of his mind..._

_Who or what killed dad? _

Bilbo snapped awake, shivering uncontrollably and letting out tiny whimpers. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, feeling the cloth stretch uncomfortably. Looking around and trying to keep quiet, he sighed and felt his cheeks, drawing his fingers away and glad to see that he hadn't been crying. The recurring dream wasn't one he had very often, just once or twice every winter.

Still, it would shake him up every time. Getting into a sitting position, Bilbo looked around camp. Everyone seemed to be sleeping- save for Dori, who was keeping watch. The hobbit watched the others sleep- really creepy, but it helped calm him. Eventually, his breathing slowed to a soft gasping sound, and his heart beat at a steady pace. He got up from the bed roll, a chill rolling through his spine as he wandered away from camp. He needed to get away.

He chose each step carefully, eventually making it to the outskirts of camp and leaning against a tree. He was glad for his racial talents- moving without sound was severely helping him, as he just wanted to be alone. Taking shaky breaths, he pushed off from the tree and continued on away from the camp, only settling down about walking about half a mile away.

Sinking to his knees, the hobbit buried his head in his hands and began to sob. Each choking sound left him mouth with more force than the last. He uttered incoherent words and slowly rocked back and forth, tears squeezing past his eyes like the light dripping of melted snow on an overhang. He shoved his head into his knees, cloth going into his mouth as he gave one last sob, ending it off with a muffled scream. He stayed shivering and quaking like that for at least an hour, he had not brought his blanket.

The tightness in his chest lessened as he began to calm again. He stayed kneeling until he was completely sure that he was silent again. But with his silence, a new sound came to his sensitive ears... breathing. Bilbo trembled as he looked around the area he had stopped at, not seeing anything. Maybe it was his imagination, maybe it was simply the night critters around him. He didn't know.

Getting to his feet, Bilbo began to walk back to camp, staying as quiet as his shivering cold body would let him, and arriving as the moon began to be covered by clouds. He lay down on his lumpy bedroll, shivering and curling up again. He couldn't get back to sleep, as much as he tried. He was too cold.

Apparently his shivers were loud, as suddenly someone was standing over him and resting a hand over his forehead. He couldn't really see who, but just shut his eyes tighter and prayed they would leave him be. No such luck.

"Hobbit." The voice was rough, and sleep-filled. Bilbo cracked an eye open to look up at whoever it was.

Thorin.

He prepared to die.

"Come here, you are cold." His voice had softened, and Bilbo suddenly didn't have anything under him but sturdy arms. A face frowned from above him. Thorin looked mildly concerned, and Bilbo realized that they were moving. Thorin sat down abruptly, keeping Bilbo in his embrace and gently rubbing his arms. Using one hand, the king grabbed his blanket and draped it over the hobbit, a frown on his lips.

Warmth began to seep back into his bones, and Bilbo thrived in the feeling. It was a welcoming feeling, so welcome that he forgot he was being held by Thorin and snuggled deep into his fur coat, sighing softly.

Slowly his shivers subsided and Bilbo fell into sleep, his dreams, fears, threats, and ailments all but forgotten.


End file.
